What Happened?
by NCISgirl1527
Summary: What did Hoyt do to Jane when he had her trapped in that cellar?  What did she see?  How did she get out?  What happened?  A look into that first run in with Hoyt. Set before the show started. Jane's point of view.


**_We keep seeing all these flashbacks to what happened to Jane with Hoyt so I sort of combined them to make this story, which is my idea of what probably happened. I hope you like it. It is my first Rizzoli and Isles story._**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.**_

_**Spoilers: Small ones from I'm Your Boogie Man and See One, Do One, Teach One**_

I am uncomfortably aware of the sound of my shoes as I make my way down the wooden staircase. Each step I take is announced by the creaking of a stair or the tapping of my shoe against the wood. However I keep walking towards the landing at the bottom where I see an open door. I can already smell the metallic scent of blood. I wonder vaguely if it the blood of one of his former victims or of a new one or maybe just an animal.

I slow to almost stopping as I reach the door. I should not be down here without back up. I had known that when I enter the building, but no one else was close enough. If I waited for them to come he might escape. My heart is beating faster now and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wonder if he knows I am out here.

I stare at the doorway. He has made no move and perhaps is still unaware of my presence. I can still turn back. I can go upstairs and call for back up. Then we can all go in together and take him down. Unless he escapes while I am waiting for them. No, I realize, there is no choice. I have gotten this far. Now I need to take him down.

I leave no more room for hesitation as I step towards the doorway with my gun leading the way. Slowly I peer inside the room, and I see that the light is actually sunlight that has forced its way through the grime-covered windows. Then my attention turns to another feature of the room: a large mattress in the middle of the floor.

There is a woman on it, and she is watching me. I note that she is bound with duck-tape like of the other victims. However she is not dead. No, she is making as many movements as she can within the confines of her duck-tape, trying to draw my attention. I watch her for a moment and I realize she is trying to tell me something. Her mouth is covered with duck-tape, but I do not need her to speak to understand her message. Her eyes tell me that she is terrified.

She is warning me to get out, but I do not listen. I am a cop. It is my job to protect the people of this city even if it puts my life at risk. That is the oath I took when I received my badge, and that is the oath I will up hold. I take another step forward. I see the woman's eyes go wide, and then I see nothing. All is darkness.

-0- -0- -0-

I am lying on my back on the cold stone floor of the basement. At least I assume that is where I am, but I do not dare to open my eyes. I concentrate instead on what woke me. I can feel a dull pounding in my head. I think hard, but I cannot remember where it came from. I must have been hit with something from behind. That would explain it.

Suddenly there is a sharp pain in my right palm. I inhale sharply, and it is all I can do to keep from crying out it pain. However I stay quiet, praying that he believes me to still be unconscious. Then I feel a stab of pain in my other palm. I have to bite my lip this time, but I still manage not to cry out. My eyes are still closed. I do not want to look at what he is doing to me.

"Hello Jane," a soft yet malicious voice coos from above me, "It is so nice to finale meet you." He knows I am awake.

I make no response and keep my eye tightly shut. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek, and I know he is close, too close. Fear seizes me as I realize what he is doing. He is making me his next victim. He is going to kill me. I try to swallow my fear and concentrate. He is speaking again.

"You know I have been look forward to meeting you for a very look time," he tells me. His voice soft and enticing as though he were my lover not a serial killer poised to kill me. Still I do not respond so he continues. "Open your eyes, Jane," he requests, "I want to see your beautiful eyes."

I ignore him and keep my eyes tightly closed. Then I feel something stroking my cheek. It is cold and metallic. A flash of fear runs though me, and I shiver. I know it is a scalpel because that is his weapon of choice. That is how he killed his first nine victims, and that is how he will kill me.

The day I joined the Boston Police Force, I knew I was going to be putting my life on the line everyday of the week. I had accepted that a long time ago. I had imagined possible ways I could die in the line of duty, but this had never been on the list. Never once had I considered that I would die on the floor of a stone basement. Never once had I thought I would die with a simple cut to the throat with two scalpels imbedded in my palms.

I knew I was trembling, but I could do nothing to stop it. Between the pain in my hands, which was almost unbearable, and the fear of a slow death, I was powerless. He stroked my cheek with the scalpel again. Then I made a decision. I was probably going to die down here, but I was going to go down looking my killer in the eyes not hiding like a coward. My eyes flew open.

I could see him now. He was crouching on top of me and holding his scalpel to my neck. I could feel the teeth of the blade waiting to cut though my skin. I glanced to either side and saw that both of my hand had been impaled with scalpels. Scarlet blood covered both hands, my blood. The sight sickened me, and I quickly looked away.

He was watching me. I realized as I looked back at his face. He was watching my every move. Then he spoke again. "I am so glad you opened your eyes," he murmurs looking at me. I did not break the gaze. I wanted to, but some remaining measure of pride kept me staring into his cold, hollow eyes. "You really do have beautiful eyes."

"Go to hell," I spat at him. I fight to keep my tone as close to even as possible, but I can hear the fear slipping out. I know he does too.

"Now Janie," he chastises me, "you don't mean that."

"Go. To. Hell," I repeat and for the first time the anger manages to overtake the fear.

"I've heard about you," he whispers to me, "they say you can be very stubborn."

"Yea, and I've heard about you," I reply allowing the anger to take complete control. "They say you're a coward and a scumbag."

I saw the anger flash in his eyes, and I knew my shot had made its mark. I also knew that I was baiting him, but I also could not see how my situation could get much worse. I much preferred to die having taken a few good shots at him than to die after trembling submissively in fear.

He is silent for a long moment. Then he smiles. It is wicked smile with no warmth or joy behind it. It is a smile that can mean only one thing. It means that the game is up. It means that I am going to die.

He starts to press the scalpel to my throat, and I close my eyes. I cannot watch it. I cannot watch him. I am trembling more than before, and the pain in my hands seem much greater. These are my final moments on earth, I think to myself.

Then a door bangs open and two gunshots cut the air. I feel the scalpel drop away from my neck, and I can no longer hear his breathing.

There is a new person crouching over me now. I can sense them, but I keep my eyes closed not wanted to know who it is. Then they speak.

"Jane," the man says, "Can you hear me?" I recognize that voice. It is Korsak, my partner. Relief seeps though me, but I cannot stop trembling. With the fear of impending death vanished, I realized just how much my hands hurt. I feel the tears welling up, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not cry in front of Korsak. I open my eyes to look at him.

He is crouched on the floor beside me, and his expression is one of concern. He sees that I have opened my eyes and lets out a sigh of relief. I realize with a shock that he thought I was dead. I try to smile to prove to him that I am not, but I only manage a grimace.

"It's okay, Jane," he tells me gently, "You're going to be okay. Just hold on there." He watches me carefully, checking his watch every few seconds. He is waiting for the paramedics.

Behind him I can see the woman sitting on the bed. She seems unharmed, which slightly lessens the guilt I feel for having forgotten about until now. I cannot quiet make out her face because she is not looking at me. She is looking at the floor at the foot of the mattress. I cannot see exactly what she is staring at because Korsak is blocking my view, but I know what it must be: _his_ body.

In the silence I begin to think. I begin to think about every that has just happened, and everything that could have happened. Those thoughts hit me like one brick wall after another. I cannot hold it together anymore. Had I avoided thinking about it than I might have made it, but I did think about it. Suddenly the tears start falling down my cheeks.

I am powerless to stop them even though I know Korsak is watching me. I wonder what he must think of me right now. I am a trembling, crying, helpless mess. He reaches down strokes my cheek gently. I know he is trying to sooth me, and I appreciate the gesture.

Over the next few minutes, I manage to subdue both the trembling, and the tears. By the time the paramedics arrive, there are few indications of my break down left for them to see, and they do not look. I watch as they carry out an unconscious body, and I know it must be _his_. Korsak's bullets must have missed their mark, but they saved my life so I cannot complain.

Then I watch as a team of paramedics led the woman out of the cellar as well. Now it is just Korsak and me. I can hear the bustle of people coming from above the stairs that Korsak had come down. I know that up there are dozens of people wanting to know what happened, what happened down her in the basement.

Then Korsak helps me to my feet. I expect to follow the other two up the stone stairs into the yard, but instead he turns towards the wooden stairs I came down. He supports most of my weight as he leads me out into the stairwell. I know that he is going this way so that I will not have to be besieged by the curious onlookers, and quite possible reports. I appreciate that more than he can know.

We make our way onto the stairs, and I am surprised. The stairs are brightly lit now, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. By the time I can see again, we are out of the stairwell and in the kitchen were a paramedic sits waiting for me at a table.

Korsak pulls out a chair for me, and numbly I sit down. I do not really register what the paramedic is doing until she removes the scalpel from my right palm. Then the pain brings me back to reality. I want to flinch away, but I know better than to do so. I let her wrap up my wounds without protest. When she is done both my hands are covered in white gauze.

"You should go to the hospital and have those looked at," the paramedic informs me before walking away. I pause until she is out of earshot then I look up at my partner.

"Will you take me home?" I ask him, knowing as I do so that my voice sounds weak and broken, but I cannot help it.

"Hospital then home," he agrees. I nod and he helps me out of the chair. Normally I would walk without assistance to spare myself the shame of looking weak, but today it does not matter to me. Korsak leads me past all the cops and E.M.T.'s wanting to know what happened, and helps me into his car.

As the engine starts I lean back in my seat, and take a deep breath. The cops have Hoyt now, and they will put him behind bars.

You're safe now, I tell myself, the nightmare is over.

_**Did you like it? Please tell me.**_


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